“Physically?” She turned her head to look at him, her long blond hair a halo around her pillow, framing her face with the TV casting light and dark shadows over her. He couldn’t make out the blue of her eyes, but recognized the way they’d just softened.
Off course. Off course. Off course.
“With the...child you’re carrying,” he quickly veered back. Finding the whole situation too damned awkward. What did he call it? Pregnancy seemed too...personal...though he couldn’t say why. And baby... Yeah, everything about that gave him the cold sweats. Add the “our” to it that he feared she was doing in her own mind, and he would be out of bed and on his way to San Diego on foot in his pajamas.
She blinked but didn’t turn away. “Yes,” she said, a little smile forming on her lips. “It’s great, actually. Dr. Miller says that so far, we’re perfect.” She met his gaze...that look back again, only different, too. Something new—even for the old “them.” “Our first ultrasound is in a couple of weeks. If the baby’s presenting right, we’ll know if we’re having a boy or a girl. You’re welcome to come along if you’d like.” She named the date and time. A Wednesday, more than a week away.
He thought about it. Because a soldier needed all bases covered, a leader needed to gather as many firsthand facts as possible, and a protector had to understand the risks.
Then he pictured himself standing in a small examination room with Emily lying on the table.
“Technology has improved so much,” she said softly. “You can really make things out a lot more clearly now than you used to be able to do.”
As in, a small arm, or leg, as opposed to a blob on a screen?
He turned over, giving her his back.
“Winston? I’d like you to come.”
Oh God. What was a man supposed to do when being decent just didn’t seem to be working?
“I’ll see what I can do,” he told her. Honesty was all he had.
And he honestly couldn’t envision a time when he’d be standing in that room, with Emily on the table, looking at that screen. There was absolutely no contingency for such an action.
In spite of the meeting he had at the base the next morning—discussing intel, giving his opinion as to possible reaction against potential strategies, just based on what he’d seen and heard—he lay awake a long time, pondering action items. Seeking internal approval or rejection. He’d mentally given their current situation three months and had no way of knowing if they would be enough.
Emily was changing...he could see it in little ways. The calm that sometimes replaced her usual positive outlook. Fewer tears. The way she gave him room when he passed her, making sure they didn’t touch.
The way she never looked at him when others were around and they
did touch.
Her ability to fall into a completely platonic routine with him.
She was getting it. He was sure of it.
Until she’d looked at him in bed that night. Was she just camouflaging for his sake? Exhibiting more of that unending patience she’d always had? Hiding her inexhaustible hope on his behalf?
Time was doing one helluva lousy job taking care of things.
Eventually, with the television still droning softly in the distance, he fell asleep. But awoke again, instantly awake, some time later. Because of the TV? He reached for the remote on the headboard. Clicked off the TV before his eyes were fully open, and froze. The movement, he now realized had awoken him, was a problem. A big problem.
He was in bed with Emily. And hard as a rock.
He’d been dreaming. Rubbing whipped cream on Emily’s belly so that it didn’t get stretch marks. Or something.
So far, he’d mastered mind-over-body with precision, preventing himself from reacting sexually when he was close to her. The ease with which he’d completed the task had actually been a blessing.
And now his mind was turning traitor on him?
That was a complication he did not need.
Chapter Thirteen
It was the little things. Her mother had always told her, pay attention to the little things and usually the bigger ones would fall into place.
She was trying. God, she was trying.